


A Shared Sense of Knowing

by sheafrotherdon



Series: Nantucket AU [69]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-14
Updated: 2007-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney loves, John would tell anyone, with a depth and tenacity that few could guess if they used his scathing words and pitying stares as a guide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shared Sense of Knowing

Rodney loves, John would tell anyone, with a depth and tenacity that few could guess if they used his scathing words and pitying stares as a guide. John's learned the uneven texture of Rodney's emotions, knows that for all that Rodney holds himself apart, pushes back at the casual intimacy of friendship with a scorn that withers the more fragile souls who approach him, he's loyal to those who push past his defenses, to those who can see past his bluster to the man on the other side, someone whose peripheral vision never fails to let him know the location of rejection's every sharp edge.

So it's no surprise that when Sam calls, tells Rodney that her mother's died, Rodney takes it hard, hoards it deep, swallows up the ache of it as if it's his own loss. He moves more slowly, pauses without obvious cause, stares at the toaster and the phone and the armchair as if he needs a benign focal point on which to hang his thoughts. He's careful, sharing smiles and confidences as if they're unspeakably precious, stealing time alone on the beach with Cash, sitting on the end of the bed in the cover of twilight, staring out to the promise of the sea.

If Rodney can't help but take on Sam's grief, John's helpless to do anything but claim Rodney's sadness. It pains him to watch the gentle ache in Rodney's step, to see the worry in the way Rodney makes him a sandwich, pushing it across the kitchen counter as if to ward off other fates. And when he comes home to a darkened house, finds Rodney on the back porch, windblown and cold, he says nothing, merely presses close, sweater-clad chest to shirt-chilled back, wraps his arms around the man for whom he'd happily open a vein if it would help, and hooks his chin over a broad, welcome shoulder.

Rodney shivers at the heat of John's body, slides a hand over John's arm and rests against him. "Just sad," he murmurs as John noses his cheek.

"I know, buddy," John whispers, holding him tight. "I know."


End file.
